Twas the night before Christmas, our daughters been fed And once again in New York, the JETS sh*t the bed.
While our baby is nestled, we devise a new plan It’s called: Guess who’s not growing up a JETS fan?
The coaching’s atrocious, the franchise is weak The QB’s a loser… their future looks bleak.
My wife in her jersey, and I in my cap Have finally realized… the organization is cr*p.
When out in New Jersey there arose some odd sounds I dream that Mark Sanchez is sent to the Browns.
The moon on the breast of a wintery mix As I burn our remaining Jets season tix.
I hope my man woody calls up a reporter And publically fires them all in this order.
First Rexy, then Sanzhez, and Sporano must go Send Cromartie to Dallas… Water board Tim Tebow.
When the dust is all settled, and their lockers are clean Write a breakup email, and send to Shonn Greene.
Your season is over, it ended in pain Rex’s next job: Assistant coach at Tulane.
With his constant trash talk, and mushy physique He is set up for failure week after week.
So come on Mr. Johnson! Let’s create some good luck Replace your front office with guys that don’t s*ck
then grab a QB who’ll pick up “first and ten” Let Sanchez call games on ESPN.
My super bowl dreams… once again have been crumbled And this year for Christmas: A gift wrapped butt fumble.
Merry Christmas New York! The best city on earth!!
Except for the Jets… who should have been smothered at birth.
I hate you.